


Dark Paradise

by ArethusaRay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dream Sex, Dreams, Grief/Mourning, Love, M/M, True Love, Wet Dream, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArethusaRay/pseuds/ArethusaRay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus is having vivid dreams after Sirius' death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> This work was heavily inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Dark Paradise." I do not claim any ownership, I just played with some lyrics.

All my friends tell me I should move on. I understand their point of view. I know to well that we are at war and losses are terrible and common. We have all suffered. They point out Tonks, who has openly expressed her interest in me. She’s just so young. I fear what being in a relationship with someone like me would do to her. But it’s more than that. 

I know that Sirius Black is dead. I watched him fall through the veil with my own eyes. I’m no longer in denial. I know that he’s gone. However, of late I find myself spending more and more time in bed, sleeping longer than I should or waiting for sleep to come or just laying there after a dream and savoring it, hoping that it will never fade. He’s there with me every night. 

That’s what I’m doing tonight: laying in my bed waiting for sleep to take me. In my own bed, for once, which is a rare treat these days. It still smells like him. Or perhaps that’s just my imagination. I remember so vividly the first night he came to my flat after he escaped from Azkaban and the indecision on his face as he tried to decide which was the priority, making love to me or taking a shower. I solved the problem for him by climbing into the shower with him. Afterward, in my bed, it was like we were teenagers again- the desperation, the need for each other, the naked desire, and the awkwardness after 12 years of separation. We both changed so much that we had to re-learn each other. 

Sometimes when he comes to me in my dreams we are young again. I relive the nights in our final year at Hogwarts when we both learned that we shared feelings for each other. We would sneak into the other’s bed late at night while everyone else was asleep. After graduation we got our first place together. We were so in love. 

But tonight as I lay here I remember him as he was shortly before his death when we were with the Order working all day and long into the night trying to find any solution and then falling asleep, exhausted, in his childhood bedroom. I remember the room so clearly- the sheets, the feel of his hair across my face as he slept next to me. 

Tonight I feel him. If I close my eyes I can feel him come into my room and say in his ever-sardonic baritone, “Moony, what are you doing in bed? Don’t you know there’s a war on?” And if I keep my eyes closed I can feel him crawl into bed and kiss me, kiss my neck and my eyelids. I can feel his hands on me, pleading, working their way down my body but waiting at my hips for approval to decend farther down. I always resist at first because I enjoy making him work for my affections but he knows it doesn’t take much before I turn over to face him, wrap my arms around him, lace my fingers through his thick, black hair, and pull his face to mine. I kiss him deeply. I love the feeling of his lips pressed to mine, his tongue searching. I am always tentative. It doesn’t matter how many years we’ve been together, how many years we’ve known each other, and how well we both know the other’s desires. His tongue probes my lips gently and I open my mouth to let it inside. His hands slowly reach under my shirt and he complains, as always, that it drives him crazy. Of course, Sirius Black never wears a shirt (or any clothes, for that matter) to bed. There’s no point in it; it will come off anyway. He pulls my shirt over my head and he traces his fingernails lightly across my scars so that I shiver. When we were young I felt so self-conscious, but now I know that he loves every part of me. He kisses my chest as he works his hands down to my pajama pants, unties them, and slips them off. The sight of me makes him growl in a way that makes man and dog blur together. He bites my neck. I pull him toward me. He pushes my knees up to my chest and strokes my length. He smiles at me devilishly and works his mouth down my chest and takes me in deep, sucking and licking, bringing me close to the edge but pulling back just in time. It is ecstasy. I’ve never grown tired of the feel of his mouth on my cock. While he has me distracted he reaches for the lubricant on my bedside table and rubs some on himself. In a contorted position with his lips still clinging tenuously to the head of my cock he begins to push himself inside of me. It is amazing. I feel so full, so whole. I groan in pleasure at the familiar sensation. He pulls his head back and pushes himself all the way inside of me and waits for a moment, restraining himself, getting used to the feel of me. I trace my fingers along his neck, his back, and chest. When I can tell that he his holding back for my sake instead of his own, I scratch my nails across his shoulder blades. He moans and thrusts, pulls out and slams into me, over and over. It is bliss. I reach my nails and grip his arse, pulling him harder and harder as our mouths struggle to find each other between ragged gasps. We keep our eyes open, fixed on each other. His beautiful body, so scarred from prison, has finally begun to resemble mine. It is beautiful and sad. He reaches one of my thighs up and hooks it over his shoulder, closing his eyes briefly as the intensity hits him. I feel him getting closer as he angles his thrusts to hit that perfect spot inside of me that makes me lose all thought. He hits it again and again. I bite his neck hard enough to draw blood because. I know it’s time for him. He moans into his orgasm and still manages to reach one hand around my thigh. He grips me and brings me over the edge and, at the same time, he comes. We collapse in a mess together, not caring, just needing to feel our arms around each other, needing to stay close, even as his girth diminishes inside of me. 

We lay there, face to face, our heads on the pillow, and he whispers, “Remus, you’re fine.” 

The words bring a sting of tears to my eyes. I tell him, “No, I’m not fine. I’m not fine anymore, Sirius. I’m not fine without you here. I-" my breath hitches in my throat, "I wish I was dead.” 

He puts his finger to my lips and says, “I promise you, you’re fine.” 

I wake up, not realizing that I ever fell asleep. The sheets stick to my body. I haven’t awoken like this since puberty. Or rather, I hadn’t, until his death. Now it has been every night. I keep my eyes squeezed shut. I want to keep feeling him. I can still smell his breath, feel his hands. I don’t want to believe that he is gone. I am so scared that he won’t be waiting for me on the other side.

Into the darkness I whisper, “I love you, Sirius Black.”


End file.
